


all dressed in radiant colors

by gayshrug



Series: prompt fills [3]
Category: 9-1-1: Lone Star (TV 2020)
Genre: Communication, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, Prompt Fill, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-16 22:43:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29583243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayshrug/pseuds/gayshrug
Summary: Prompt: "Is that my shirt?" - "You mean our shirt?"Or: Carlos is confronted with the fact that he might've been holding back a little, and TK's a chef.
Relationships: Carlos Reyes/TK Strand
Series: prompt fills [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2165997
Comments: 8
Kudos: 192





	all dressed in radiant colors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [immortalstrand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/immortalstrand/gifts).



> hello again! i'm back with yet another prompt fill, this time for @immortalstrand on tumblr/ao3.   
> thank you so much for sending this in <3 
> 
> the title is from "now that i'm older" by sufjan stevens.

“ _Baby_ …”, Carlos mumbled, hand trying to seek out TK’s warmth beside him. To no avail. Eyes still bleary with sleep, he stroked over the covers and crawled closer to the edge of the bed – almost tumbling off before catching himself and falling back into the pillow closest to him, face-first. The fabric was cool to the touch by now but still smelled like TK, like home. Carlos groaned, yearning.

That was new – Carlos being the last one to wake up. Usually, he had to tease TK awake, nudge him for minutes at a time, whisper sweet nothings into his ear, all for the sake of not getting hit in the balls. TK was useless in the mornings, clinging to sleep with all he had and ready to fight anyone who came between him and those sweet extra minutes of unconsciousness.

Skeptical of what the change in routine could mean, Carlos took his time getting up. He didn’t bother to get dressed, instead trudging into the bathroom naked. No need for clothes, considering he’d just take them off in a minute anyway.

He opted for brushing his teeth under the shower spray to preserve water and immediately regretted it – toothpaste clinging to his toes where he’d carelessly let it drop from his mouth. Michelle would laugh at him for copying the behavior he’d bemoaned about TK in the past, he knew. But fuck it. Nobody needed to know.

Toweling himself dry took longer than usual, Carlos distracted by his attempts at locating his favorite Sunday-morning-shirt. He had an excessive wardrobe, yes – heaps upon heaps of shirts and flannels in different colors, for varying occasions. When it came to Sunday mornings, however, he was _particular_.

After he’d put on a clean pair of briefs – the soft, white ones TK couldn’t help but grope at whenever he wore them – he started digging through the hamper, the pile of clothes on the chair next to the desk, the drawer designated for casual wear. He even got on his knees to look underneath the bed, unsure of whether he’d maybe flung the shirt there carelessly while he’d been desperate to undress. But no.

Muttering to himself, he grudgingly pulled out one of those joke-shirts he and TK had gotten from the 126 after they’d made their relationship known – an obnoxiously bright crop-top with _BABES Club_ printed over the chest in bold letters. It left his stomach exposed completely, accentuating his waist and happy trail; if nothing else, it’d at least make TK laugh and get close. A good distraction from Carlos’s irrational upset at having misplaced his favorite shirt.

❦

As he walked down the stairs on quiet feet, careful not to make too much noise so he could scope out the situation before TK noticed him, Carlos stopped in his tracks near the bottom. TK was shimmying along to Carlos’s weekend playlist, chopping veggies for what Carlos assumed was going to be omelets. Wearing tiny boxers and an oversized shirt.

Coffee was already on the table in a gigantic thermos jug, bread rolls and an assortment of jams and honey placed beside it – alongside butter, cheeses, and avocado and salmon bites. Carlos couldn’t keep his mouth closed, eyes flickering between the breakfast buffet and his boyfriend, who still hadn’t noticed him, in wonder. _What the fuck._

Right as he was about to say something – propose marriage, maybe – TK turned around, sizzling pan in hand.

They just stared at each other for a moment.

Before TK could presumably yell at Carlos for being a fucking creep, Carlos blurted out “Is that my shirt?”, fixing his gaze on the unmistakable APD logo on TK’s chest. And the way the shirt was hanging off TK’s shoulders, accentuating the dip of his throat. Two sizes too big for him, Carlos guessed. _My size_.

“You mean our shirt?”, TK replied, eyebrow ticking up as he placed the pan on the table mat. When he met Carlos’s gaze, he crossed his arms in front of his chest, defensive.

“What- no, I mean _my_ shirt. You know it’s- I _always_ -“ Carlos couldn’t find his words, brain having a hard time reconciling the conflicting impressions bouncing around in it.

TK was wearing his favorite shirt, meaning he himself couldn’t wear it. Not ideal. TK looked _delectable_ wearing his favorite shirt. Huh. TK had prepared one hell of a breakfast buffet for Carlos. Beautiful. Carlos was picking a fight over TK wearing his shirt instead of crushing him into a hug and thanking him. Bad. Very, _very_ bad.

TK made his way over to him, never breaking eye-contact. “ _Our shirt_ , Carlos. I put it on whenever you’re on duty or, like, busy. Out of the house. It smells like you, so I wear it.” – “You- but-“

Rather than telling him off for being stuck in his habits, or ungrateful, or _whatever_ , TK grabbed Carlos’s hands and placed them on his own waist, over the soft, warm fabric of Carlos’s shirt. “You’re my home, Carlos. Is that so bad?”

It snapped Carlos out of his daze, hearing his own thoughts from earlier mirrored by his boyfriend. “No, no, it’s not bad at all, it’s – I _want_ that. You’re my home, too.” Carlos leaned in, burying his face in TK’s shoulder, pulling him closer. Breathing in the mingled scents on _their_ shirt, the epitome of their relationship.

TK laughed into Carlos’s neck, dug his fingers into Carlos’s exposed hips. Groped at his ass a little, like Carlos knew he would. “Why do I feel like sharing this shirt is a bigger step for us than you giving me that key?”, TK mumbled, smile audible.

It sounded silly but TK wasn’t _wrong_ , per se – Carlos felt like they’d made it official. The shirt, the breakfast, his playlist warbling on in the background even though he knew it wasn’t what TK would choose to play for himself. They shared everything, now.

Carlos didn’t know if he’d been holding back, not consciously at least, but as this last piece clicked into place, he let out a huff – overwhelmed. Grabbed TK by the backs of his thighs and pulled him up, planted him on his own hips. Pressed him closer, as close as he could get him.

Peppered kisses all over his face, apologizing, thanking him, interrupting TK’s giggles and eyerolling with even more kisses. Carried TK over to the breakfast table and sat him down, climbed into his lap. Ignored the precarious creaking of the chair.

They could always make a fresh batch of omelets later.

**Author's Note:**

> god, this is short. hope you all enjoyed it anyway! 
> 
> i'd be happy about any kudos or comments you'd like to throw my way, as always <3 
> 
> you can find me @gayshrug on tumblr as well as twitter. don't be a stranger!


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